Trust of the Padawan
by Padawan of an Angel
Summary: This is a work-in-progress project that will focus on the relationship of a Padawan Raltharan Hardin with his master Silara Toth in the waning days of the Clone Wars. I hope you enjoy my progress so far, and please leave a review! Also, I've fixed the issue where all my paragraph-marks and such were showing through from Word.


Trust of the Padawan

_**Chapter One**_

_B__oom. _An explosion rocks the ship. The boy is scared. The matte-grey halls of the Venator-class Star Destroyer are confusing to the new padawan, and the clones are running to their battle stations, ignoring the boy who has lost his master. _Boom. _Another explosion – this one closer. Suddenly, the circular light on the flat commlink-module attached to his bracer lights up with the worried voice of his master calling his name:  
"_Raltharan!" _she calls. He can tell by the distortion in her voice that she is already in her starfighter.

"Master Toth!" the padawan replies, equally as worried but doubly scared. "What's going on?"

"Separatist dreadnought. They're not supposed to be _near_ this system, and I'm not supposed to – _aarrggh!" _He hears laser-fire erupt on his master's end of the comms. "Sorry; not supposed to engage them from a _training _ship!"

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You can be on time for training next time, and you'd be up here with me!"

_Sorry, Master, _he thinks, but he knows now isn't the time. No time for excuses or _should-have-dones_. He only wishes that now his master would give him a straight answer when he asks a question. _She's good at giving non-answers. _

"No time for that now, Master. What can I _do?"_

"Get to a ship! I see you on the link, next right, second left!"

"Right away, Master." Raltharan tumbles through hangar access door almost faster than it can dilate its panels and clear from his path. He has no time to admire the majesty of the battle happening overhead, the cosmic spectacle of ARC-170s and V-Wings blazing plasma bursts towards the flying tinnies; the Vultures and the Hyenas. But before he can vault over into the cockpit of his Delta-7 Aethersprite Fighter, another model of droid ship descends amidst the chaos, catching the attention of all in the vicinity of the hangar; including a small detachment of clone cadets that he recalls had been called up by the admiral to help prep the fighters for flight training.

"Predator Gunship!" a clone yells, ducking behind some crates and readying his blaster rifle. _Master Toth is busy in the sky, I'd better take point, _Raltharan thinks, but he cannot stop the shaking of his hands.

"Sergeant!" he barks a little too loudly, his voice taking on an authoritative quality that he's pretty sure he borrowed from holo-recordings of General Kenobi. "There's a B2 up there! Big clanker! Ground the ships or they'll be blasted before they leave the shield!"

The clone sergeant relays the orders to his men, but an ARC-170 shoots upwards before its pilot can abort the takeoff sequence. The B2 drops to the deck of the hangar with a tremendous thud, and extends its arm. As the clones begin shooting, the droid's hand falls downwards to expose a tri-barrelled rocket launcher. Its ordinance fires, illuminating the hangar walls as it flies and collides with the side of the ARC's nose. Clones rush to get out of its path as the starfighter lists and its wing collides with the side of the hangar and its proton torpedos go off inside their casing. Panicked clones in crew uniforms arrive to put out the smouldering husk of the ship while others join the fray against the detachment of battle droids loose in the hangar. Raltharan stands and watches in awe as the chaos unfolds around him, staring as the droid gunship takes off once more, pursued by fire from the clone soldiers.

"Padawan Hardin! Get down!" the clone sergeant drags him behind cover and gives him a look that he can feel even through the helmet. "What are you doing, commander? You could have been killed!"

"Sorry Sergeant. First battle jitters. Never been in open battle with the seppies before. Thanks for pulling me out." He says this with little emotion in his voice, and he swallows forcefully to drown the fear that remains.

"This is war, Hardin. This might only be a training ship, but experience counts for everything, kid. 'Till you get some, you're going to listen to what I tell you to do, got it?" Raltharan offers a nod. "How's your blocking?"

"Going good, sergeant. Enough to get by, Master Toth thinks."

"Right, duck-and-roll over to that position-" he motions towards a stack of crates with a single clone crouching behind "- and draw their fire. Raltharan does as he is asked, and dives across the gap. But in that moment, the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and he sees himself cooked by a droid's blaster-bolt, so he springs on his hands and cartwheels to his feet, in the position the sergeant indicated.

He pauses for a moment to breathe – and he is interrupted by his commlink. Master Toth's voice, panicked this time, struggles to cut through the cacophony of the battle.

"_Ral! _Where _are you?_" her voice is further shrouded by the crossfire above the Venator. "Get in your ship and _get up here!" _Raltharan has no time to respond, and taps his commlink to cut off the transmission. The sergeant motions to him to _hurry up_, and he leaps backward over the crates, igniting his lightsabre at the peak of his jump; a blade of brilliant orange – a rare colour for a Jedi, rarer still for a padawan - leaps forward, humming with a deep timbre, and the padawan spins it deftly, striking the searing-hot plasma bolts of the battle droids, sending them spinning in another direction. One of the redirected bolts catches a B1 in the crest of its beaked head and it falls, taking another droid down with it. The clone sergeant unleashes spears of blue laser-fire into the fallen droids.

One by one, the remaining droids fall to the blasters of the republic clones, or the reflected bolts of their own blaster-carbines, but not before Raltharan sees a shiny-armoured clone takes a hit between his chest armour and his pauldron. The clone goes down quickly and another two duck from behind their crates to hide him in cover. With the unmistakable laser-pop noise of a reflected blaster-bolt, there are but two droids remaining, Raltharan rushes forward, his saber-blade trailing behind him like the glow of a ship's engines as it enters hyperspace. One of the droids readies its blaster to catch him at close range. Raltharan notices the whir of the droid's servos, and drops to the deck, sliding and swinging his saber before him, creating a whirl of light that first cuts the blasters of the droids in half, then slices them lengthways. One of the clankers garbles a death sound as its front-half separates from its back-half, and a clunk echoes around the hangar as the parts fall. All is silent except for the muffled sounds of the battle raging above.

Once more, Raltharan's commlink springs to life, and so does the sergeant's; but it is not the voice of Silara Toth that snaps them all back to reality. Rather it is the admiral in command of the vessel, a staunch veteran of the Republic whose decades of experience have strained both her voice and her face.

"Commander Hardin, Sergeant Horn;" _so _that's _his name, _Raltharan realizes and makes a note to commit it to memory. "we are clear to make the jump to hyperspace."

"Which system, Admiral?" Raltharan asks, relieved, but worriedly adds; "And what about Master Toth?"

"_Home. _I'm dispatching her hyperspace ring." As she says this, Ral sees a purple-painted hyperspace ring ascend in the distance, at the fore of the ship. "General Silara will join us there." Raltharan knows that by home she means Coruscant; not just for the admiral, but for him, too. For all her experience and cunning in battle, the admiral cares deeply for the Jedi that train on her ship.  
The ship shudders and creaks as it surges forward into hyperspace. Secretly, Raltharan wishes he could be on the bridge so that he could see the stars turn to streaks past the cockpit. For now, he latches onto a fuel-storage cell that is bolted to the ground – for refuelling V-Wings – and tries not to fall as the ship violently lurches out of realspace.

"She'll be right, kid," Sergeant Horn reassures him. "This Venator was one of the first to join the fleet after the clones joined the war, but she's got good bones;" he knocks the wall of the hangar. It's clear to see, at least for Raltharan, that Horn began his service in the Starfighter Corps.

Bidding goodbye to the sergeant, and with the rush of his first open battle thumping in his chest, Raltharan backtracks from the hangar to his quarters. He pauses to point a clone cadet in the direction of the infirmary – the cadet's squadmate was injured in the skirmish – and rounds the corner into his quarters.

_Master Toth would tell me to meditate, now. _Raltharan drops gracelessly to his knees, and catches the edge of his bunk with his boot. Grimacing at the proportions of his cabin, he shuffles forward. With hands still shaking from the droid skirmish, he closes his eyes and slows his breathing. Finding a centre amidst his tumultuous thoughts. Introspectively, he examines the calm. It does not hit him quickly, like a flood would swallow a shoreline, but it arrives gradually. The slow tide, lapping up onto the rocks and drowning the chaos of the sands below. He imagines his worries, his fears and his insecurities as creatures that live amongst that sand; and the slowly lolling waves as tranquillity and serenity that swallow those thoughts that thwart his peace. Raltharan knows that envisioning it this way is destructive, ultimately. He knows that the repose that purges away his doubts eventually will

wash away itself; returning to a sea that he cannot reach; one of pure composure and harmony that he imagines is how the masters of the Jedi feel. And so often, this tide does go out, and Raltharan is left with only the poor thoughts.

His fear.

His doubt.

His hate.

His rage.

And he longs to see a shore like that with his own eyes once again. There are no such natural wonders on Coruscant, and his home planet was one of rock and salt; of trees, and of rain, but whet by still basins and lazy rivers. No moons to pull the tide around. Yet still, he longs to return. _But still, my happiest moment there was when I left. Master Toth… She has shown me so much._ _Chandrila… An early mission. A diplomacy lesson, when I was a youngling. And I saw that beach for the first time. When will we return? If ever?_

A voice, somewhere in his head; not his master's, but the alien, raspy voice with its backwards grammar that belongs to Master Yoda; a conversation from long in the past.

"_Youngling." _He says calmly, not to draw undue attention from the others. "_Your thoughts I can sense. On _yourself_, they dwell." _

"_Sorry, my Master," _Raltharan responds, both in his nervous, pitched voice from then, and his deeper, anxious voice from now. He adds; _"I find it hard to see around me with my eyes closed."_

"_Ah, the struggle of a youngling. Too focused on their _past_, some are. Their parents. On their _future_, are others. Their _potential. _Focused on the present_, _you _are, _but _too narrow!" With this, the aged Jedi master points an accusing digit at Raltharan that suggests authority as well as care, direction as well as control. "_Look outward, youngling. The world _around _your struggle, you must see. How it affects you, and how you affect it. How, binds the galaxy and separates it, the will of the force does. Peace you will achieved, _only then."

Before Raltharan can ask _"But how?", _his focus is lost, and the vision of the funny little green alien with wisdom beyond any other in the Order is gone once sighs, and moves from his knees on the floor, to his back on the bunk. Unblinking, he stares at the ceiling until he feels the familiar shudder of the ship returning to realspace, returning to orbit above Coruscant.

The padawan looks lost, twirling his chestnut braid in his fingers as he sits slumped on a wall, in a hallway not far from the council chambers. Raltharan hears many words emanating from the council chamber; few of them intelligible, all of them from his master.

"_Lack of … irresponsible! … absolute disregard … training! Did you … consider … putting him in? The ship … unsuitable! ... crew … undermanned!" _Raltharan does not need the force to feel the tension in the chamber. A final groan echoes down the hall, followed swiftly by his master. "They _knew!" _Master Toth shouts, failing to maintain a dignified visage in front of him.

"Pardon, Master?"

"They knew it was separatist space, and they knew the ship was undermanned." She runs her hands backwards, down her chartreuse lekku, slick with sweat from her furrowed and agitated brow. With a heavy sigh, she spins on her heel and straightens her back against the wall, sliding down to sit next to Raltharan, and she glares at Master Oppo Rancisis as he slithers past them, down the hall. "And now, I'm pretty _kriffing _sure I'm under "_disciplinary action" _for worrying about my only padawan taking on a squad of droids instead of what was meant to be a training flight!" She breathes another sigh and curses something in her native language. Raltharan thinks he hears the word _schutta_, but decides it's better not to ask her.

"So… what do I do now?"

"Go in and ask _them, _I guess. I don't even know if you're still assigned to me."

"Yes, Master. Will you be here when I return?"

"Most likely. Give 'em hell, champ." Master Toth grins, and Raltharan returns a subdued chuckle; she was reciting one of her lines of encouragement from combat training.

With confidence that the council could not be so harsh for the crime of compassion, Raltharan ambles down the hallway and pauses before the cavernous entrance to the council chambers. He stops before he enters, hearing conversation about him between Master Yoda and Master Windu.

"Care deeply for her padawan, she does. Make compassion a crime, will we? Think it sinister, I do not."

"Even so, perhaps this is indicative of a poor decision on our part. How many times before has a padawan achieved their apprentice status this late? How many masters have trained the youngling they discovered? It is obvious an attachment has been formed that conflicts with our teachings."

"Consider separating them, you would?"

"If that would subdue Toth and assist her to keep her balance… then yes, it must be considered."

Raltharan recognizes the voice of Ki-Adi Mundi; "Considered? They should be separated at once. The padawan should be reassigned and Toth should spend some time confined to temple duties."

"Padawan." Yoda speaks slowly and calmly, halting the debate. "Enter. Expecting you, I have been."

"Masters, I… I didn't mean to eavesdrop." Raltharan hesitates as he strolls awkwardly into the council chamber, feeling the eyes of the masters around him; most of which are projected holograms, but for Yoda, Windu and Mundi. He especially feels the glare of the latter. "I… uh.. where do I…?"

"You are wondering where you and your master stand in light of her recent outburst."

"Yes, Master. I gather that it is not anywhere good."

"No, it may not be. As I'm sure you heard, it is likely that your master will be confined to duties around the temple. That would not be conducive to your teaching, especially considering your age to have only recently attained your rank."

"A teaching opportunity, it may be for both master and apprentice," Yoda rejoins, offering the padawan a slight smile. "To teach apprentices in the field may be protocol now, but to look to domestic affairs may be helpful for this case. If continue to feed her emotions, Master Toth does, then separated they will be, and considered, further action will be."

Stass Allie speaks next, her voice blurred by the holo-projector. "A bond between master and apprentice is natural. If we are to separate this pair, we would need to separate most of the apprentices in the Order. Especially during a time of war, it should be celebrated and monitored. This outburst is the fault of Silara Toth, we should not punish her padawan on her account."

"A good point, Master Allie," Ki-Adi Mundi asserts, "but their concern should still be on Coruscant affairs."

"Then it is decided," Master Windu concludes, "the boy and his master shall remain together, and they will both observe discipline in the form of Capital duties." Nods and murmurs of agreement fill the room. "If your master will not join us, then you can inform her of this development. Also, there is a matter the two of you can begin with, if you choose to."

"We will be ready, Master," Raltharan volunteers eagerly. "What would you have us do?"

"There is an ongoing investigation in the underworld of Coruscant. After the bombing of the temple, Anakin Skywalker's padawan was, admittedly mistakenly, believed to be the culprit. During her escape, Skywalker spotted her being aided by Asajj Ventress, and later confirmed that it was, in fact, her. We need you to confirm that she still resides in the lower levels of Coruscant. Skywalker reported that she had taken up bounty hunting, but even so, she was an apprentice to Dooku and is trained in the dark side; no matter if she retains her allegiance or not, this power makes her a threat to the temple, especially with many of our younglings training here. Do not engage her, we just need confirmation that she still resides in the lower levels before we can spare some more experienced Jedi to deal with her."

"It will be done, Master. Where would we begin?"

"Her last reported sighting was on level 1312. Cantinas, or other bounty-hunter hangouts would be a good place to start."

"We will begin immediately, my Master."


End file.
